


Sleepy Fawnlock

by bennyslegs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennyslegs/pseuds/bennyslegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fawnlock, go to sleep." John fluttered grumpily on Fawnlock's shoulder. They'd been through this a few times now. John suspected Fawnlock enjoyed it, the brat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepy Fawnlock

**Author's Note:**

> YAY FOR WRITING AND DRAWING AT 4AM. i'm falling in love with these two.

"Fawnlock, _go to sleep_." John fluttered grumpily on Fawnlock's shoulder. They'd been through this a few times now. John suspected Fawnlock enjoyed it, the brat.

"Don't want to." Fawnlock replied petulantly, trying to shrug off the little butterfly. It was all show, John knew. Fawnlock enjoyed his company, especially at night. John returned the feelings. Nights were not good for him either, images of nets and pins haunting him. Rubbing his back legs together, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind. Focus on the task at hand, Butterfly Watson: Getting Fawnlock to sleep.

"You have to, you've been up too long. You'll start imagining things, soon. Nobody wants that."

 

Fawnlock rubbed at his face sleepily, taking Johns words in the best he could. Words. Butterflies do not speak words.

"John... Butterflies don't talk." Fawnlock opened one eye slightly, and looked towards his shoulder where the little loyal butterfly was making himself comfortable for the night.

"Do you ever get bored of being right? No, don't answer that. I know you don't. Yes, butterflies can't talk."

Fawnlock flicked his ears in confusion. Then how we're they - Oh.

"I'm asleep, aren't I?" He closed his eye, and accepted it. How dull. Sleep. What a waste of perfectly good time!

He could feel little (dream) John had stilled, and Fawnlock assumed he was sleeping. Sleeping in a dream. What a double waste of perfectly good time.

Stifling a yawn, Fawnlock let his body relax. Perhaps this sleep thing wasn't so bad, if he had company. Maybe next time he'd ask Butterfly John about that peculiar puncture hole in his left wing. Or maybe he'd ask him why he stays by Fawnlock's side, despite all the strops and sulks.

Perhaps he'd tell him that he'd never had a friend like him.

Maybe he'd even tell him he'd never had a friend at all.

 

By morning, Fawnlock's forgotten everything. Dreams never tend to stay with him, but in his chest he feels a warmth he can't quite put his finger on - like remembering a particularly nice hug. Whatever he'd imagine a hug would feel like.

 

He dedicates the whole day to finding a wide variety of delicious flowers just for John.  


End file.
